Written In Blood
by Bella Taggart
Summary: In the aftermath of a devastating school-shooting Rachel and Quinn forge an unexpected friendship.
1. Chapter 1

_Written in Blood_

_by_

_Bella Taggart_

_Prologue_

The day Jacob Ben Israel decides to go through with killing everyone he knows is a Tuesday. He has been fantasizing about it on and off for months, going through possible scenarios and outcomes, but it isn't until he gets a Tuesday morning slushy in the face that he finally makes up his mind.

Jacob doesn't know why he is suddenly so sure. This slushy is no different than the one he wiped off his face the day before. The jock isn't particularly mean about it as he throws the icy drink on his face. He doesn't get pushed into one of the lockers, not many people linger in the hall afterwards, and only a few snicker behind his back. All things considered it's a good day.

Jacob doesn't know what exactly changes inside of him but he knows that something does, as quickly and surely as the click of a switch. He also knows that he will come to school one day in the very near future and blow all these people away. The moment he thinks of it a feeling of calm surrounds him.

1/?

Rachel wakes up with a smile on her face. It's not only her 17th birthday, but it's also the day she's going to go up against Kurt Hummel, and remind everyone why she is the only choice for _Defying Gravity_. Obviously. She has been working on her rendition for a few days now, even though the song is a long time favorite and she could hit the high notes in her sleep by this point. Kurt is good, great even sometimes, she grudgingly admits. That doesn't mean he stands a chance against her however.

Her fathers break into song as soon as she walks into the kitchen. This is how every birthday morning starts in the Berry home. A plate of vegan pancakes with a candle in it is shoved in front of her face and her daddy blinds her with the flash of his camera.

"Make a wish, puppet." Dad says, his warm brown eyes glistening behind his glasses.

She knows she's lucky to have fathers who love her so much. She always knows this, but on special days like this she knows it even more.

She takes in a deep breath, closes her eyes to make her wish- a love so big it'll sweep her right off her feet (it's been the same wish for a few years now, she is hopeful it's going to take at some point)- and blows out the candle.

Hugs and kisses come after that. And a big breakfast. Presents will come later on; after dinner at her favorite restaurant. Well, maybe before, if her fathers can't wait any longer to give them to her. And she won't be surprised if she finds a card in her bag later in the day, something she can read at school. She is _not_ spoiled. Not at all.

They settled into this routine years ago and it works out really well. She figures they came up with it in the first place so that she would have something to look forward to all day long. She doesn't mind. What she lacks in friends, her parents more than make up for.

She walks out of her house with a kick in her step. She's going to give her very best performance at glee this afternoon and tonight she will celebrate with an extra large serving of cake. It's going to be a day to remember, she's sure of it.

Quinn takes her pompoms out of her locker and shuts it with more force than strictly necessary. She's not having a very good day. Puck wants to talk about Beth, and he makes sure that she knows it every chance he gets. It's starting to get to her. She's told him as much, and yet he continues to push. She's pretty sure that if he mentions it one more time she is going to punch him. Or send Santana after him, which is perhaps the harsher of her options but she's tried everything at this point and nothing seems to get through. Perhaps physical violence will.

It isn't like they have anything left to talk about. They had a baby together, they gave it up. Rachel's birth mother has her now; the same mother who doesn't want to be a mother to her own daughter, but wants to be one to hers. It's a pretty messed up situation. But it's done.

She briefly wonders how Rachel feels about the whole thing- Not that she'll ask her, but it can't be easy on her. Then again not much seems to phase Rachel with her full teeth on display smile so who knows.

"Hey Quinny. Why so serious?"

It's Santana.

"Just thinking"

"About?"

"Glee." She says.

Santana is her best friend. Again. They have their ons and offs but they are on at the moment, and if she can talk to anyone about this, it's probably her. But then again, she doesn't want to talk about it.

Santana gives her a funny look, which means she isn't buying it, but plays along anyway.

"Ready for the diva off?"

"Huh?" Quinn asks.

"RuPaul and Porcelain."

"Right."

"I'm rooting for Kurt, if for no other reason than to knock her down a notch, the insufferable little bitch."

"Nice to see you in a sunny mood."

"I'm just sick and tired of that dwarf getting all the solos. Like seriously, has Shuster _never _heard me sing?"

"You should have thrown your hat into the ring if you wanted it San."

"Please, like I care about Glee."

"I dunno, seems to me like you care a little."

"Whatever, Rachel can suck on my dick."

A small gasp from behind makes her look back. And of course Rachel is there.

They lock eyes and for a second Quinn feels bad about what Santana said but then Rachel looks down without saying anything and that sparks enough anger in Quinn that she doesn't feel so bad anymore. The girl doesn't even stand up for herself, just takes it and goes on her merry little way. It's pathetic really.

"Good morning Quinn, Santana." Rachel greets them with her typical cheer to her voice.

Quinn feels like shaking the girl.

"What do you want?" Santana asks, her voice not the least bit apologetic.

"Mr. Shuster wants us to meet during lunch break. I believe that he's got an announcement to make regarding sectionals. I suggest you be on time."

"Fine." Quinn says, without looking back.

A moment later Rachel is gone.

Rachel is the first one to show up in the auditorium, as usual. She drops her bag on a seat and climbs onto the stage. She loves this place. This is where her dreams come true. Every day for a few minutes she walks in here and sings a song. She's been doing it since freshman year. The acoustics is brilliant, the space is grand. And the moment she opens her mouth she feels transported to a place where there is only beauty and warmth.

It's the exact opposite of how she feels when she gets slushied.

Here she belongs.

She fiddles with the piano, plays a few notes of _On my Own_ and feels herself smiling. _Les Mis_ really is a work of pure genius.

By her estimation she has at least a few minutes until people start piling in. Might as well make use of the time and space she thinks, as she takes center stage. She looks at the empty seats and imagines them full. Broadway, she thinks, and starts singing.

The song gets to her, it always does. And even though she is overcome with emotion she feels better as the final lyrics fall from her mouth.

She thinks it funny that she should feel better simply by getting lost in a song in an empty theater but she does, so what's the harm really. And it's proof that contrary to popular belief, it doesn't take much to make her happy. This is all she needs.

Someone claps, and Rachel snaps out of her thoughts. She wipes her face, getting rid of the tears.

"Hello?" She calls out, trying to see into the back.

"Hello Rachel."

"Jacob? What are you doing here?"

"I saw you walk in, I followed you."

She sighs, "You really need to stop doing that Jacob. It's unhealthy, this obsession."

"That was a great song and you sang it so well."

His attention is unwanted, and she feels intruded upon. And yet she can appreciate persistence. She herself has been known to go after what she wants, no matter how many times she gets rejected. So she gives him a weak smile, "Thank you."

Walking over to the piano, she shuts its cover, "If you want to talk, you might as well come forward. I can't see you over there."

He walks down the aisle, and stands where he is visible. His attire is the first thing she notices about him. He's wearing an army jacket, heavy boots and a green bandana on his head. His face is painted as well. Rachel holds in the laughter that suddenly wants to bubble out of her.

"You look very…Rambo-esque."

"You like it?"

"Hmm…" Rachel grins, "I'd say you're ready to infiltrate the enemy camp."

"That's the point."

She doesn't really understand what he means, but she isn't worried about it. Also, if she is being honest, she doesn't care enough to ask.

"Right…so, what can I help you with?"

He doesn't say anything for a while, and Rachel wants to work on her solo one more time before the others come in, so she urges him to get a move on.

"If you're here to ask me to be your date to the blue moon party, the answer I am afraid is still no. Really Jacob, I'm quite certain that if you give yourself half the chance and let go of this so called crush you have on me, you will find a perfectly acceptable girl who will reciprocate your feelings. Granted, she probably won't be as talented as I am but talent isn't everything. So they say."

"It's your birthday, right?"

She's caught off-guard by the question, not unpleasantly so but not in an entirely pleasant way either.

"Well yes, as a matter of fact. It's nice of you to remember."

"I see you, you know. I see the pain you are in."

O-kayyy. "I don't know what you mean."

"Every day you pretend like it doesn't bother you." He says, taking a step closer. "I see you trying to fit in, working harder than anybody else. You give it your all to be perfect. Perfect little Rachel Berry and still nobody appreciates you."

"Jacob." She warns, suddenly wary of this conversation.

"Deep down you know that you are just a loser and you don't deserve to be happy. But you do Rachel, don't you see? It's these people...they don't know you like I do. No matter how much you try to pretend, at the end of the day you're as miserable as I am. And that's why you cry every time you sing."

"That's not true." She says weakly, even as her eyes fill with tears.

"Don't LIE!" He yells, and she jumps. She doesn't want to talk anymore.

"Jacob, I don't know what's gotten into you but I think you should leave now."

"Don't play dumb." He says like a curse, somehow managing to look both calm and crazy at the same time. "And stop moving."

His hands go inside his pockets and for the first time Rachel notices the bulges at his sides. Her heart jumps to her throat and still she tries to make sense of what's going on. This isn't what it looks like she tells herself, it's a prank. Or a documentary. Yes, this is one of Jacob's stupid little documentaries.

"Where is the camera Jacob?" She asks, with a bravado she doesn't feel.

"I'm going to give you a gift Rachel. The best gift in the world."

"Oh, yeah?" She asks slowly, her eyes glued to his hands in his pockets.

"I'm going to make the pain stop."

"Jacob…You're scaring me."

"There is nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore."

And then he takes his hand out of his pocket, and holds up a gun.

"Oh God." She gasps, because it's a real gun, she has seen enough props to know the difference.

She doesn't understand what is happening, only hears herself beg when he points the gun towards her. "Don't, please."

Her hands go up on their own, motioning for him to stop, and her eyes close in fear, no longer able to meet his eyes. _Shema Israel_, she prays urgently, _Shema Israel Adonai_. Only she can't remember what comes next. And that in itself is crazy because she wakes up and goes to bed to this prayer.

_God_, she thinks, _help me_.

"Rachel."

She is crying, her head shaking in denial. This can't be happening.

"Look at me."

"No," She's too afraid.

"Yes," He says, "Look at me Rachel."

It's the softness of his voice that finally has her raising her head. "What?" She croaks, _what do you want from me?_

"Happy birthday."

The bullet- much louder than anything she has heard before- catches her right in the center and throws her flying back.

She is literally swept off her feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Written in Blood

2/?

First thing she's aware of is hair on her face, and even though her vision is blurry she's almost certain it's Quinn who is cradling her head in her lap.

"Quinn." She gasps lifting her head. And then suddenly she is screaming, like she has never done before. But there is so much pain and…blood. Oh God, all that blood is coming out of her gut, where Quinn is pressing with all her might.

"Shh, shh Rachel." Quinn covers her mouth, "We have to be quiet, okay? We have to be very quiet. Do you understand?"

She is groaning, hurt and confused, but the look on Quinn's face is sobering. She's seen Quinn serious but not like this, and all she can do is swallow down her cries and nod.

Quinn lifts her hand then, hovering above her as if to make sure that she does in fact remain quiet. When she does, Quinn gives her an approving nod and slips from under her.

"Hurts." Rachel whimpers, in between forced short breaths, trying to rein her voice in.

"I know, I know."

Quinn takes off her sweater and rolls it up. "Here," She says, putting it under Rachel's head. Then she's kneeling by her stomach, tightening the belt she's got around her.

Rachel cries out in pain.

"I'm sorry, I am but I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

Rachel remembers the first aid class she took last summer. She knew it would come in handy some day. Still, this is beyond anything she could have imagined. "Apply…pressure." She wheezes.

"Right, exactly."

"Where…" She croaks, because it's dark and she doesn't know how she got here.

"Changing room."

The belt makes sense now. She is pretty sure she recognizes it from one of the costumes of the civil war play the theater club is putting on. If she wasn't in so much pain, she'd be impressed by Quinn's quick thinking.

There is a cloth soaking up her blood under the buckle. Rachel wonders if that is the only thing keeping her guts from falling out of her body. The moment she thinks it, she starts trembling.

"Shh. You're okay, you're fine." Quinn says, voice controlled.

She doesn't feel fine. It feels like cold water is rushing down her head, the back of her neck down to the tips of her toes. Her head is killing her, and her stomach is- She hopes she passes out soon.

"Is it tight enough?" Quinn asks.

She groans in answer. "What…happened?"

Quinn looks up from her task, "You don't remember?"

"I…I think… I hit my head."

The thought scares her. It's not good that she can't remember anything. It means that she has a concussion. She feels nauseous when she thinks back, and her headache seems to get worse if that's possible. Images come to mind but nothing that makes sense…The last thing she clearly remembers is- "I was…singing."

Quinn looks at her for a long moment, so long in fact that Rachel has to prompt her. "Quinn?"

"You're cold." Quinn declares suddenly, getting to her feet. "I'm going to find something to cover you with."

It seems like after only a blink Quinn is back with the old stage curtain in her arms.

The thing is huge, heavy, and more a brown color now than bordeaux from years of use, but it'll do. It covers her from head to toe and then some and the pressure on her limbs makes her feel a little more secure somehow.

"It was Jacob," Quinn says, after settling down next to her "He shot you, unless he has an accomplice- which I doubt he has."

"Jacob?" Rachel cries, shocked. Because yes, he does have stalker qualities but a gun? That's not something she can picture. Nice Jewish boys don't go around shooting people. "You sure?"

"I saw him, Rachel." Quinn snaps, and then takes a breath to calm herself. "I was on my way here when I heard shots and people started screaming and running." Quinn's face is tight with tension. "He was shooting anyone in his way. He has killed people, and he would have killed me too if he'd seen me."

"Who?" Rachel asks, afraid of the answer.

Quinn looks at her blankly.

"Who?"

"I only saw the few." Quinn sighs, "Jenny Graham, Richard…the tall one and…" She falls silent, but not like she's finished, more like she's afraid to give more bad news.

"Quinn." Rachel says, because more than a word or two at a time is too difficult to manage, but she isn't going to let this go.

"Mr. Schuster."

"No." She gasps.

Surely there is some kind of a mistake. This can not be happening. She refuses to believe. And maybe it's because she can't believe that she isn't crying.

"I'm sorry." Quinn whispers, meeting her eyes. There are tears in Quinn's eyes and Rachel finds herself thinking that they look good on her. It makes her look softer somehow.

Or _maybe_ she is in shock.

Quinn sniffles, "I just ran, I didn't know what to do. I just ran into the auditorium to hide and then I saw you and…"

"Brought me… here."

Quinn nods.

"My parents…" Rachel says, "I need to call them."

"There's no reception." Quinn says, "I tried already."

"But…" but she needs to speak with them. She needs to tell them she loves them. They know that already of course but if she dies here…Oh god, she might die here and then what would they do?

And now tears _are_ pooling in her eyes.

"Hey," Quinn leans in, close enough for Rachel to feel her breath across her face. "Whatever it is, you can tell them when we get out of here."

The sympathy in her voice more than anything else makes Rachel take pause.

"I must really…be dying."

"Why?"

"You…nice…to me."

"Shut up." Quinn rolls her eyes, "Don't you know what quiet means?"

Rachel appreciates the snap in Quinn's voice. She really does.

The first time they heard the muted bangs Rachel had jumped, despite the noise being really not that loud at all. "Gunshots?" She had asked, her tone showing that she already knew the answer.

Quinn had nodded, because what else could they have been.

"Shouldn't they… be louder?"

"Sound proof doors."

And that was that.

Now they sit, without saying anything. The only sounds in the room are Rachel's wheezing as she tries to breathe and those shots, which come in various intervals. Sometimes one after the other, and sometimes with long breaks in between. The latter is worse because the long silence lulls them into a false sense of security. Hope rises. And then a new shot is fired and hope dies.

Somewhere along the line Quinn has started counting. She's at 31 at the moment, which means that there must be more. McKinley is not a big high school. There are at most 350 students that go here. Given that each shot is aimed at a single person, that makes 10% of the student body. Which means that she probably knows all and is friends with some of the ones that are shot.

She hadn't known Richard very well but she'd have considered Jenny a friend. And , well she knows him too, obviously. _Knew_ him.

"I'd kill…for a duvet."

Rachel's words come out through clattering teeth. As soon as she's said it, she seems to hear herself.

They share a pained smile at the irony of her statement.

"Still cold?"

Rachel nods, "Can't seem…to get…warm."

"Here," Quinn says, very carefully draping herself over Rachel's side. Body heat is not much but it is better than nothing.

Her hand settles over Rachel's stomach- who flinches in pain and sucks in a deep breath, but other than that remains silent- holding the make-do bandage in place. Pressure might hurt her, but it will also save her life, hopefully.

After a few minutes, Rachel's body relaxes under her. "Thanks." She says, her voice small.

Quinn is restless.

She has locked and barricaded the door with the makeup table. They're as safe as they're going to get in here. And yet she can't help but feel like a sitting duck.

And Rachel…Rachel is hurt. Really, seriously hurt and whatever first aid she knows she has already applied. If someone doesn't get to them soon, she might be stuck in here with just a body. The thought drops her stomach so badly that she nearly spins to look at her.

Rachel catches the sharp turn and gives her a questioning look.

She shakes her head, dismissingly. "Nothing," she says, "You okay?"

Rachel just nods.

"It's my birthday," Rachel informs Quinn, after a while, because, well, staying quiet is not helping her and she's pretty sure if she doesn't concentrate on something other than the pain she is in she will quite literally loose it.

"It is?"

She nods, her lips curving slightly. Funny how life works out; her birthday is supposed to be a day of celebration for coming into this world. Instead she might be leaving it today, which would make her birthday her death-day.

There are so many things she hasn't done yet. All she's done is sing. God, she is still a virgin. There must be a law somewhere that says virgins can't die, that is unless they are being sacrificed at some alter, but still…She hasn't loved anybody yet. Sure she's obsessed over people but in her heart of hearts she knows she hasn't fallen in love, and no one has loved her back.

She hasn't even made a real friend yet. All the ones that vaguely fit the category tolerate her more than anything else. And now, she won't get the chance, for any of it. Her life will have been a wasted opportunity and she'll die here in the school theater.

She thinks she should feel some sense of satisfaction for the drama factor alone but there is no satisfaction. Only a sense of her life draining out of her one painful drop at a time, and regret.

"You're seventeen, right?" Quinn asks, softly.

It takes a moment for Rachel to clear her head, "Yeah…you?"

"Same."

"Birthday?"

"January 17th."

"That's… soon."

"Yep, one month."

It's a silly conversation. They both know it, but it's something to fill the air.

"What is that?" Rachel asks, wheezing louder, which each passing moment. "Capricorn?"

"Yes." Quinn says, surprised. "You know signs?"

"Not really."

Which is basically the end of that. That is until, after minutes of silence, Rachel remembers, "Stubborn."

"What?"

"Capricorns…are stubborn."

Quinn laughs. "That's true actually."

Rachel smiles.

"You're going to be fine, you know." Quinn says, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

Rachel very much doubts that, but nods along anyway.

"You'll see. You'll be back to your annoying chipper self in no time." Quinn promises, holding her eyes, "We've just got to get through this."

"If I don't-

"You will."

"Yeah, but if-

"You will." Quinn says, like it's an order. "Now, enough talking, you need to conserve your energy."

Stubborn, indeed.

Rachel has no other option but to give up really. And she's tired. So tired. Not talking seems like a great idea, closing her eyes for a moment, even a better one.

She's startled awake by Quinn's movement.

"I'm just going to check outside for a moment." Quinn says, getting to her feet.

That clears the cobwebs from her mind.

"Have you completely…lost your mind?"

"I'll be right back."

"Quinn,"

"Rachel, we need to get out of here. You need a hospital."

She is right of course. She does need a hospital in a bad way, but she needs for Quinn to stay with her too. Because outside that door is Jacob, and he has lost it and if he even catches sight of the _sometimes_ head cheerleader who has at one time or another carried the title of "meanest girl in school" with pride, he will most definitely kill her. And Rachel might not have the best opinion about Quinn, but she doesn't want her to die either.

"Please…" Rachel begs. "Don't."

Quinn's head tilts towards her and her mouth opens as if to say something but instead she clears her throat and turns away. "I'll be right back." She says, pushing the makeup table out of the way. And then she's gone.

Rachel's eyes stay glued to the door long after it shuts behind Quinn. She wants to believe her, she really does but she can't help wondering; even if Quinn _could_ come back, why would she even bother.


	3. Chapter 3

3/?

There is an emergency exit inside the theater.

Quinn avoids the drag marks of Rachel's blood across the stage, stays low to the ground and makes her way to it.

The heavy door creaks loudly as she pushes it open, but at least an alarm is not blasting off. She takes a moment to make sure she's alone and then she's in the corridor that leads to…she doesn't know where it leads. She hopes for the garden, but she doubts she's that lucky. The chances are, the exit will lead to a hallway inside the school.

She moves quickly, her heart trying to beat itself out of her chest each time she comes to a corner. Her shoes squeak on the white floor, she considers taking them off but decides against it. Who knows what's up ahead. A simple broken glass could stop her on her way, and she can't risk that.

She keeps checking behind her, afraid she's going to get caught unaware, but there isn't anyone there. She doesn't stop long enough to be proven otherwise.

She slows down after what seems like minutes of running on her toes. There is a door in front of her. This is it, she thinks.

Her breath is quick as she rushes on, taking big, quick steps and then she hears it. A thundering shot. So loud, it vibrates in her chest. She yelps in reflex. For a moment she thinks she's been shot, but it's not her. There is a door between her and the gun.

She is frozen in fear, just a few feet from it.

Her heart is in her throat, beating so fast she's dizzy from it. She waits for the door to open, she's sure he must have heard her. 1-2-3 seconds. Another shot is fired, followed by screams from the other side.

This time she doesn't wait, hopes that the cries of his target will cover the sounds of her footsteps, as she runs back the way she came from.

She doesn't stop until she's back inside the theater. As soon as the door closes behind her, she falls to her knees, throws up. Gives herself just a moment to catch her breath, pull herself together. Cold sweat drips down her face.

She looks up at the sound of a muted bang. Followed by others from an equal distance. This time, she is comforted by them. She's disgusted with herself for feeling that way, but they mean he's not coming after her, and she doesn't want to die.

She doesn't want to die.

She remembers screaming otherwise, not long, just a few months ago. In a fit of childish, self-pitying drama, screaming at her mother about death being preferable to the hell she was going through. She realizes now, wiping her mouth with her arm, she didn't even know the meaning of the word. She's getting a better understanding of it today. That's for sure.

She rises.

There is a bag on the front row. She assumes it's Rachel's. She rummages through it, looking for anything that might be useful. Finds a bottle of water, a package of Twix, and a cell phone. The rest is useless as expected; sheet music, pens, and Hepburn style sunglasses. Quinn shakes her head, figures she'd have those. The girl dresses like she belongs to another era.

The cell phone has no reception, not even when she holds it up high in the air. She pockets it all the same, takes a sip of water, gurgles and spits into the trash. A bite on one of the Twix bars gets rid of the acrid taste in her mouth. The other one she'll give to Rachel.

It's not long before she's walking back into the changing room, announcing her presence with a whispered "It's me."

Only there is no answer. Rachel doesn't jump in fear, or say anything. In fact she doesn't move at all.

"Rachel." Quinn is down on the floor and taking hold of Rachel's shoulders in a heartbeat, "Rachel, wake up."

Nothing.

"Rachel!" Her voice comes out loud, uncontrolled despite her efforts to keep it low. "Wake up!"

Slaps to her face don't get a response either.

She feels half crazy, like this is the thing that's going to break her. "Open your eyes, Berry." She pleads, "Please."

Nothing.

"If you die on me, I'm so gonna kick your ass."

The bottle of water is the last resort. She empties half of it right onto Rachel's face.

And miraculously, Rachel's eyes snap open. She coughs wetly, and winces. "What-"

She's dazed, and confused but at least she's awake.

Quinn whimpers in relief, her breath rushing in and out of her like she has run for a good 10 minutes and her hands- the same ones covered in Rachel's dried blood- are shaking.

She doesn't know how much longer she can keep this up. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"You came back." Rachel says, the surprise evident in her voice.

Quinn looks at her. Rachel is so pale. She needs to figure out a way for them to get out of here before time runs out.

"Here, drink." She orders bringing what's left of the water to Rachel's lips.

Rachel swallows slowly, her hair sticking to her forehead, gives her a weak nod when she's had enough.

"Listen, you need to stay awake, okay?" Quinn says, drying Rachel's face with the sleeve of her shirt. "You need to stay with me."

Rachel doesn't say anything in response, but there is a look in her eyes.

Quinn doesn't know what it means but at least Rachel's eyes are open. "You're going to be fine." She says, because that's her new mantra now. "You need to hold on." And suddenly she has an idea. "You have that song you need to sing, right? You have to beat Kurt."

"I thought… there were more… important things… than glee."

That's the longest sentence she's heard Rachel say for a while now. Quinn will take it.

"I lied."

That earns her a doubtful look which makes Quinn chuckle weakly. "What, I did. I'm a liar, it's my thing. Ask anyone."

Rachel's lips curve up for a moment. It warms something in her.

"You'll be fine." Quinn says again.

"Liar." Rachel gasps, closing her eyes.

It breaks something in her.

Her mind wonders. She can't help it. One minute she's looking at the wall above Quinn's head, and the next she's imagining her funeral. Only it doesn't feel like she's imagining anything, it feels like she is actually there. Not in the coffin or anything- though there is a closed coffin there- but somewhere in the room watching everything.

Her fathers are there, her grandparents and her uncle David, whom she hasn't seen since her Bat mitzvah. He lives in New York, and is a very busy man, but he does make time for big events in her life. Her funeral must count, she thinks.

Everyone, including the glee club, is crying great big sobs.

Britney is on Santana's lap. "Who's going to boss us around now?" She asks, but no one answers her.

The Rabbi is talking about how precious a human life is and all about God's big plan until he isn't anymore and there is Mr. Schuster instead, dressed all in black with white suspenders and a hat. He says something about Rachel being a star and her being too good for this world and how she's rising into the night sky where she belongs, to watch over her family and friends. And then Kurt is up there singing _Defying Gravity_ in her honor, so well, so incredibly well that, when he is done he gets a standing ovation. At a funeral. Which is not acceptable. At all. She says as much, but no one seems to hear her, except for Quinn who is suddenly in front of her.

"No clapping," Rachel orders stomping her foot. Quinn just stares at her without saying anything. She stares and stares for what seems like forever.

"Rachel!"

She snaps out of it. "Huh?"

"Did you say something?"

She blinks furiously, trying to clear her mind. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

No, definitely not. "I…"

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really." She says because that's the truth. She doesn't feel much of anything anymore.

Quinn gives her a long look before she very casually- as though this is something the two of them talk about on a regular basis- says, "Puck wants us to go see Beth together."

Rachel is taken aback to say the least. Quinn is usually so stingy when it comes to anything personal.

"You don't?"

"No. Yes… I don't know. It's complicated."

"Yes."

Quinn's eyes narrow as if searching for sarcasm, but there is none to be found. Rachel can't even begin to imagine what Quinn must be feeling. And yes she has her own ideas about giving up a baby or in her case being given up but she can certainly agree on the fact that it must be very complicated indeed.

Quinn must see that she is sincere because in the next moment her eyes soften and she gives a slight nod.

Rachel knows why Quinn is doing this. She wants to keep Rachel interested in the land of the living, so to speak. It's for morale, a motivation of sorts. She has to admit it's working. She feels her mind focus for the first time in a while.

"I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet," Quinn continues, not looking at her at all.

"Scared?" Rachel asks, because hell, she has never been good at holding back her thoughts, _and _what has she got to lose at this point.

Quinn shoots her a pointed look, but instead of biting her head off, she sighs and gives a weak nod.

"Of?" Rachel asks.

There is a long silence before she gets her answer. "What if I was wrong."

Even if it is just out of pity for the dying, Rachel feels special for being the one that Quinn's turning to with this.

"Maybe, you'll know…after today." She says, because today's events should change something for those that survive it, their perspective at the very least. And because she wants to give something back she adds, "After _we_… get out."

"You think?" Quinn asks, her voice soft with a smile in there somewhere because apparently Rachel is absolutely transparent to her now.

She doesn't know when Quinn started being able to read her so well. "Sure." She says, and hopes that life doesn't make a liar out of her. Because this sharing thing with Quinn; it's nice and she wouldn't mind doing it again some day.

Later, Quinn is wiping the sweat off Rachel's forehead, when Rachel looks at her curiously and mumbles, "Why didn't you… want me?"

She tries to make sense of the question. She can't tell what she means exactly, _want her when? _She thinks, but before she can voice it Rachel is saying something else.

"I know why you're here."

Quinn is really curious now. "Why is that?"

"To say goodbye."

"Don't talk like that."

"I don't understand…you're my mom… I feel awful."

"Rachel?" She says, curiosity leaving its place to fear because Rachel isn't talking to her at all.

"Sing…with me?"

"Berry, it's Quinn."

"Can't read my… can't read my…"

"Stop. You need to conserve your energy."

But Rachel isn't listening anymore. She's somewhere else completely.

"…she's got to…"

She's singing and it's barely a whisper but the effort still takes enough out of her that by the time the last verse falls from her lips she's coughing desperately.

"love no body."

And then there is blood. Rachel makes a wet choking sound before her eyes roll back.

And just like that, time runs out.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:

- Thank you all for your lovely comments, subscriptions, favs etc. They are much appreciated and keep me motivated to write more and faster everyday. As it stands now, I have a limited time on the computer each day, and have chosen to spend the time writing the story instead of replying to you guys individually, but please know that I read everything and am beyond thankful for them.

-Since I am writing and editing live time now, I hope to get something out there once or twice a week.

-Also sorry about all the grammatical errors, typos etc… I'm afraid English is not my mother tongue and this is the best it's going to get…unless someone would like to beta this for me? Anyone?

4/?

Quinn somehow pushes, drags, carries Rachel out of the room, and onto the stage and down the stairs and up and up and up all the way to the entrance of the theater. Her legs buckle under her right as she reaches the doors. She tries for a soft landing for Rachel's sake, though she doubts she succeeds. Then again it isn't like there's anyone there to say one way or another. Rachel is out cold. And if she hasn't woken up during this bumpy ride, Quinn knows that she's not going to be waking up anytime soon.

Anyway, they need to be quiet now. _Very _quiet_._

Quinn takes a deep breath, and another. Tries to slow down her heart beat but the images of Jacob waiting for her right on the other side of the door are so real in her mind that she barely has enough time to lean over before she's throwing up again. Just fluids this time. There isn't really anything left in her.

When she's sure that she can walk again, she pushes herself up.

There is no turning back now. She says a quick prayer and nudges the door open with her foot. When there is no immediate fire, she pokes her head out.

He isn't there.

She listens for a moment, for an indication of his location, but it's silent out. Quinn realizes that it's been silent for a while now. At least five minutes. So, either it's over or it's one of those false breaks again. She doesn't have time to wait and figure out which.

Not long after, she's out of the cover of the auditorium, with Rachel on her back. It's the most difficult piggy back ride she has ever given, because for all intents and purposes Rachel is dead weight on her back, and Quinn soon discovers that keeping a hold on someone – even someone as small as Rachel – who isn't holding on to you, and trying to run at the same time is impossible. Who is she kidding? Just walking this way is pretty damn difficult.

Just the fact that she's been able to carry Rachel as far as she has is thanks to her years of cheerleading. She is going to thank Coach Silvester if she gets out of this thing alive.

If.

There are bodies along the way, _bodies_, because no one is moving any more. Quinn tries not to look down, not to see anything if she can avoid it. It's a fruitless effort of course. She can't help but pick out things. Some boy's white sneakers, its soles covered in blood. An algebra book, sticking out of an abandoned backpack in the middle of the hallway. A _Sponge Bob_ lunch box, clutched by a tiny hand.

She doesn't want to see, she doesn't want to _see_.

She quickens her steps even more, despite her protesting muscles. Starts singing in her head, _you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_. It's silly, but it's the song Lucy used to sing whenever she was upset; When she woke up from a nightmare, or when her half-full plate was taken from her, or when her mother bought her clothes that were 2 sizes too small - for motivation - their maid, Marcella, would sing it to her, and wipe the tears off her face with her wrinkly hands. Lucy would sing along, and magically feel better. _You make me happy when skies are gray. _She needs to feel better now.She needs to think of happy things or she's going to fall apart, and she can't afford to do that_. _Later. She'll fall apart, later. 

She is almost there- just one more corner and she will see the glass exit doors in the end of the hall.She walks, as fast as her feet can carry her. She's going to make it, just one more corner and she'll make it. She can already see the sunshine lighting up the lockers up ahead._ You'll never know dear, _she's there,_ how much I-_

It's the wheelchair, tipped to its side that stops her.

Artie is on the floor next to it, his body bent all wrong, his face sitting in a pool of his blood, his glasses, thrown off.

There is another pair of legs poking out from behind the chair. She recognizes the boots, tells herself she's wrong.

One step, two. She is _right_.

Mercedes is on her side. Her top has rolled up in her fall, enough so that a good portion of bare skin is showing on her stomach. Her tights cut into her waist, squeezing out a bulge of fat. She wouldn't like that to be seen, Quinn thinks. Lucy never did.

She looks up absently. The exit is right there. Maybe ten feet from where the two have fallen. They came so close, she thinks, catching sight of the police cars outside.

A policeman in swat gear motions at her from behind a car. She doesn't understand what he wants.

She tries to bend down to fix Mercedes' top, stops when she realizes that she's about to drop Rachel. -Rachel! Rachel is on her back and she needs help. Quinn has to get them out of there.

She steps over Mercedes, re-adjusts Rachel on her back and is about to take the last few steps when a weak noise makes her look to her left.

On the floor, leaning against the wall is -

"Finn?"

He looks devastated, his eyes haunted, as tears make their way down his cheeks.

"Are you hurt?" She asks, because she can't see any wounds on him. Though there is blood splatters on his face. And his pants are dark and wet along his inner thighs.

The smell lets her know that it probably isn't blood.

He doesn't say anything, just looks on ahead.

"What are you doing? Get up." She says.

He gives her a heartbreaking look and then his eyes move behind her.

She turns around, following his line of sight, and staggers back, hitting the wall.

There, hiding between the lockers is Jacob.

"Hello Quinn, nice of you to stop by."

The wall keeps her standing, supporting Rachel's weight. It's a good thing too because her knees feel like they might give out at any moment.

"Who's that?" He asks, motioning at her back, his voice full of humor. "Is that Rachel?" He pauses when he sees that it is, but only for a moment. Then he's smirking, "That's rich. You don't even like her. You spend your life making her suffer, and now what? You're carrying her outside?"

His voice rises at the end like it's the punch line of a joke and then he starts laughing, great big barks that just get bigger and bigger.

It pisses her off.

"Carrying her…outside." He's barely able to breath, he's laughing so much. "Rachel Berry on Quinn Fabray's back."

"What's so funny?" She snaps, even though she probably shouldn't. But her fear has left its place to anger. And anger, she knows. Anger, she can deal with.

His eyes widen in surprise but he just shakes his head, chuckling. "Oh, you're really something, aren't you?" He says, as he wipes the tears off his eyes. "She's dead Quinn. You are carrying a dead body. Granted, a body of a goddess but, dead is dead."

He plays with his gun, "I mean, what's the point of risking your life for that? Rachel is gone. She's in a much better place now."

She glances at Finn, who gives her the tiniest of headshakes; his eyes saying _don't poke the lion._

"Oh, don't even waste your time with him." Jacob says, noticing. "Mr. Scaredypants over there will just sit there, pissing himself, as I drop his friends one by one. That's what he does best. Isn't that right Finny?"

Finn looks down dejectedly.

"Boo hoo." Jacob says, "I don't know what Rachel ever saw in you. Dumb as a door knob, with that stupid ass grin. And the courage of a lion…Look at you, you're pathetic."

He stares at Finn without saying anything, then suddenly barks "Boo!" Finn flinches in response, which makes Jacob laugh again. "Who's the big man now, bitch?"

"Big men shoot helpless boys in wheelchairs now?" She asks, because to hell with him. She's not going to go down a quivering mess.

"It's the intention that counts _Quinny_. Him, I sent to heaven." He says, his face suddenly serious. "You, I'll send to hell."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I think we've had enough of a chat, don't you? In fact this is probably the longest that we've ever spoken."

"You're right, just shoot me, get it over with."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

"Please, like I want to look at your face a minute longer than I have to."

"Do you see this?" He holds up the gun, incredulous. "You sure you want to talk like this to someone with a loaded gun?"

"You're going to shoot me either way."

"You bet I am." He says, annoyed now. "You deserve it. You know what my life has been like because of people like you? People like-

"You're boring me now." She pushes herself off the wall, strengthening her grip on Rachel. "Tell your sob story to someone who gives a damn."

"You can't talk to me this way! I'm in charge here!"

"Yeah, whatever." She says moving towards the door. "Since you're planning on talking me to death, I think I'll be on my way."

"Stop!" He shouts, coming after her, his gun aimed high. "You're going to listen to me!"

She keeps moving, even as her stomach turns and she tastes bile in her mouth.

"I said, STOP!" He lunges at her, grabbing her arm, forcing the gun against her temple.

She takes in a deep breath, shuts her eyes in reflex. She can't _actually_ face this head on.

"You're going to pay-

In the next instance a shot is fired. She screams as something wet hits her on the face.

"Suspect down! Suspect down!" She hears dimly, as she registers that it's him that's shot and not her.

He has a hole on the side of his head.

It's over.

They are _safe_.

A whirlwind of people rush in then; The swat team, the paramedics, who knows whom else, all barking orders at each other, making it hard for her to see or hear anything.

She stands frozen in the middle of chaos, shaking like a leaf, her body refusing to still. Adrenalin, she thinks, must be the adrenalin. Someone grabs her, moves her outside. Tries to take Rachel off her back and even though her shoulder hurts like it's out of a socket, her arms refuse to release their hold.

_They are safe_.

"I've got her, sweetie, I've got her." The paramedic says, with a sense of care and urgency to her voice. "Let go, you can let go now."

Quinn lets go.


	5. Chapter 5

Written in Blood

5/?

When Rachel opens her eyes, she's in the hospital. The sunlight is too bright and her mouth feels like she's swallowed a furry animal.

Her dad is asleep on a chair by her side, clutching her hand - the one without the IV She numbly registers that he looks older than usual... She's heard that worry does that to a person.

She tries to sit up, only to regret it when pain shoots right through her; Her back, her front; she can't really tell where her body is stabbing itself.

The whimper that escapes her is enough to wake her dad up.

"Pumpkin?"

She tries for words but what comes out is a gurgled mess.

"What is it sweetheart?"

"Water," she croaks, when she can.

A straw is pressed to her lips immediately.

"Easy," her dad warns. " It's the intubation," Her dad explains, seeing her wince when she tries to clear her throat. "A tube was helping you breathe. The doctor said that you could experience some discomfort."

Discomfort is putting it mildly. Her throat feels pretty much butchered.

The water helps. Though there is a distinct taste of blood in her mouth that refuses to go away no matter how many sips of water she gulps down.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, the worry in his voice evident.

"Been better." She quips, earning herself a sad smile.

"Yes…" He says, dark clouds passing through his face, "Yes."

His eyes water.

Her dad isn't one to show emotion easily. She's seen him cry all of three times in her life. Once when his mother died, once when he had back surgery the pain of which was so bad he was stuck in bed for 2 weeks, and once when him and daddy had such a big fight that he ended up sleeping on the couch for two days.

This makes it the fourth.

"Hey," she says.

"No, it's okay." He shakes his head, ordering the tears back to where they came from. "You're going to be just fine. As good as new, very soon sweetheart."

She wants to say something, to soothe him, to reassure him. For once in her life she's at a loss for words. She nods weakly.

"I'm just going to get the doctor, I'll be right back." He says, rushing to the door.

She takes the alone time to re-asses herself. A careful hand down her stomach reveals taped bandages. A peek inside the neck of her gown confirms that they go all the way from her belly button, up to her chest. She can only imagine the scar that size a bandage must be covering.

She has a catheter in her groin and an IV on her left arm. Moving anything too much or too quickly results in pain and she feels weaker than she has ever felt in her life.

That her body will be able to heal so much damage seems impossible. She is lost in thought when the door opens again. This time it's her daddy who walks in.

"Oh thank God, you're awake." He rushes to her side, kisses her temple, tries to hold her without causing her pain and fails but Rachel doesn't say anything. She lets him hold her for as long as he wants.

"How do you feel?" He asks, sitting next to her on the bed.

She purses her lips in answer.

"I know baby, I know."

"What day is it?" She asks because she has a feeling that she's been here for a while.

He gives her a hesitant look and takes her hand, "Monday."

"3 days," That's a long time to be asleep.

"The 28th."

"Oh."

10 days. Her birthday was on the 18th and if today is the 28th that means that she's lost 10 days of her life. Gone, just like that.

Her father looks at her like he's waiting for her to react, for her to freak out, to give a cry of outrage, sadness - something.

So she says, "I missed Hanukah."

"And Christmas, I know baby. But we'll celebrate after we get out of here, I promise. It's just that the doctors decided that it was best to make you sleep, give your body a chance to heal before they woke you up. And last night, they gave you the medication to reverse it. Your dad and I, we were so worried that you wouldn't wake up but…you did. You did, just for a moment, do you remember?"

Rachel shakes her head.

"That's okay. They said that you probably wouldn't. And then you slept, and now you're awake."

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to feel, except very tired, all of a sudden. Her eyes get heavy. It's okay, she thinks, this time she is allowed to sleep, there is no mortal danger. The thought snaps her eyes open.

"I was with someone. Quinn. Is she okay?"

"She is fine sweetheart."

"Good." She mumbles, before drifting off, "That's good."

Turns out she is a celebrity now.

She can understand why. After all, The McKinley Massacre claimed the lives of 42 people, injured 19, making it the 2nd deadliest school shooting in United States history. She was supposed to be number 43. Came this close to it, so she's been told, a matter of minutes making the difference in the end.

A miracle, really, that she survived at all.

News outlets have been portraying her recovery as the one bright spot in the overwhelming darkness that has fallen in the aftermath of the shooting, her survival has become a symbol of hope.

Still, this is not the way she would've liked to make headlines.

Now, even after two weeks, her picture – the one some opportunist jerk snapped with his phone while she was still in the I.C.U. looking more or less like road-kill – is still circulating on newspapers.

It's not all bad of course. This whole thing has insured that she is treated as a high profile patient. The staff is waiting on her practically hand and foot. She receives bags full of "fan mail" everyday, letters, gifts, flowers, from grieving parents, from students, from people she has never met in her life, from all across the country.

Most of what she gets she gives away.

Still, she could do with a little less attention. She's received so many _get-well_ cards that Hallmark should send her a _thank you_ card at this point.

The release her dad gave the press seems to be working though. Now that they have an official statement from the family, they seem to be less aggressive. Not that she has direct interactions with them, obviously, but she hears things. There is a nurse called Sally who likes to gossip while she takes care of Rachel's sanitary needs. Apparently, most of the camera crews have started to leave, "giving Rachel time to recuperate."

She appreciates that.

She is not the only one in the public eye of course. Jacob's whole life has been plastered all over the news. From childhood pictures to short films he shot in middle school, from his grades, to his relationship with his parents, anything the press can get their hands on is fair game now. His house is surrounded - his parents prisoners in their own home. The press is ruthless in the way they go after them.

She probably should feel bad for them, but she doesn't. They are alive, aren't they? She hears in shootings like this the shooters generally kill their parents first. Jacob didn't kill them though.

Schuster is gone, Artie is gone, Mercedes, Principal Higgins and 38 others including half the football team is all gone. But they are still here. Maybe it makes her a bad person, but she can't help but blame them a little. Not for all of it but some. A person doesn't suddenly wake up one day and-

Anyway, it doesn't help to think this way. It doesn't help to think at all actually.

There is also Quinn, of course. If Rachel is the hope, Jacob the villain then surely Quinn is the hero. The story somehow got leaked that she saved Rachel's life. Ok, so leaked is not exactly the right word, more like Finn gave a blow by blow account of what he witnessed to a news anchor from CNN. All about how brave she was as she faced off with Jacob, how she stepped forward and diverted the attention from Finn when it looked like Jacob was going after him, how she goaded him into coming out of his hiding place so that the sniper could end this nightmare. Quinn the hero, albeit an unwilling one if her complete silence in the face of cameras is anything to go by. That is all Rachel has to go by anyway.

A lot of people come to visit Rachel; Classmates, Ms. Pilsburry, Coach Silvester, Puck, Finn even Brittany and Santana.

Shelby comes, which is – awkward. In fact, Shelby cries so much that in the end Rachel has to fake falling asleep to make her go away. Not that she doesn't appreciate her worry, and not that tears shed in her name don't satisfy her on some level. Just that, she can't feel it. Not really.

Her visiting hours are always full. Full of people who are not Quinn, that is.

When she does come, it's completely unexpected.

It's 11.42 on New Years Eve that Rachel wakes up from her first nightmare of the night. She knows this because the TV is on - quiet but not muted - and she can see the clock in the corner of the screen.

The doctors have prescribed pills to help her fall asleep, though she can't decide if they are a blessing or a curse. They knock her out but she wakes up feeling like a zombie.

Still, she reaches for her nightly dose, when she notices that it's not her dad sitting on the couch across from her but Quinn. For a moment she wonders if she's still dreaming, but no, it's her, wearing simple blue jeans and a white sweater, sitting with her hands on her lap, looking right at her.

"Quinn?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Hey," Her voice is soft, quiet.

"How did you-

"Your dad let me in."

"Oh."

She tries to pull herself up to get a better angle. Struggles for a moment before remembering the remote control. Gives Quinn a sheepish look as she pushes the button to lift the back of the bed up.

"Is my dad here?" she asks once she's comfortable.

"I think he went down to get some coffee. You want me to get him?"

She shakes her head.

They sit in silence for a while, which in itself should be pretty strange but for some reason isn't. Rachel doesn't ask her what she's doing in her room in the middle of the night. Quinn doesn't offer an explanation. They just sit.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asks after a while because she might be bed ridden but Quinn is still a guest and there is no need to be rude.

Quinn chuckles lightly, looking amused more than anything else. "I'm good."

And that's that.

Before they know it, it's time for the 10 second count down. Rachel puts up the volume in reflex.

"3-2-1 Happy new year!" the TV screams, people in the studio kiss and hug each other, as confetti rains on their heads.

They share a small smile.

"Happy new year." Rachel says.

"You too, Berry."

All things considered, it's not a bad way to start the New Year.


End file.
